


Alpha Dog

by theskywasblue



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Animals, Domesticity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes brings home a pup, and Watson is left to take care of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha Dog

If Holmes had been less fond of Lady Rostad as a person (she reminds him rather of a very kind nursemaid he had as a boy during one of his many bouts of prolonged fever) he would have demanded payment in full for his intellectual services, rather than payment in part supplemented by a generous personal gift. Particularly if he had been aware that said personal gift was the pick of her prize Bulldog Princess' most recent litter.

Holmes experience with dogs was limited solely to the pack of foxhounds his father had kept - loose-limbed, wiry, and not truly tame. But this pup is...round. Mostly just round. And squirmy. And he has a bark sharp enough to sting.

Having arrived back at Baker Street covered in no small amount of bull pup drool, Holmes deposits the animal in the hall outside his rooms, shuts the door, and sets about procuring a clean shirt. Just as he has shucked the old and decidedly soggy one, tossing it away into a corner with a collection of old newspapers, Watson knocks once, and enters, as is their system. The pup takes complete advantage of the opening and barrels in, tripping over its own paws in its haste before throwing itself against Holmes' legs with a series of excited noises.

"So," Watson says in his best _'I'm trying very hard not to be furiously angry with you right now'_ voice, "I take it you_ are_ aware there's a dog out in the hallway."

"Certainly," Holmes nudges the pup aside with his foot, but the little beast latches on to his cuff and begins a game of tug-of-war. "You need not concern yourself Watson. I'll take care of him tomorrow."

"Take care _how_?" Watson is understandably suspicious. "He's a living creature Holmes, not a bad bunch of apples. He needs to be fed, cared for..." he looks despairingly at a damp spot on the rug, "housetrained."

Holmes looks at Watson. Watson looks back. The pup begins a staring contest with the tiger skin rug. Within moments, everything comes to a satisfactory conclusion.

"Very well then," Watson sighs, picking up the pup and tucking him under one arm, "I do always clean up your messes regardless."

***

Watson names the pup Gladstone, though Holmes rather thinks it should be called "Unholy Terror and Scourge of the Household". Mrs. Hudson - in her continuing campaign to make Holmes as miserable as any one person can be - thinks the beast is adorable, and forgives every possible transgression his small, furry body can perpetrate. She also gives the pup Holmes' share of the morning bacon for a full week until Holmes finally points out to her that, in fact, Gladstone makes no contribution to room and board payments, and therefore should not be privileged enough to eat bacon.

He thereafter gets sausage instead, and Holmes pretends not to take this as a personal slight.

Gladstone housetrains himself on Holmes' newspaper, devours his bedroom slippers, and howls when he plays his violin. In an attempt to distract the pup, Holmes once ties a sausage to the end of a stick to the top of Gladstone's collar. The results are most amusing, however Watson is not pleased.

Watson talks to Gladstone, and plays with Gladstone, and focuses _every waking moment of his attention_ on Gladstone, and Holmes is most certainly not in the least bit jealous of a dog.

***

"He's spoiled," Holmes announces, miserably plucking at the hem of his dressing gown which has been frayed by furious puppy teeth. Watson hardly glances over from where he is reclined on the settee, Gladstone wiggling happily atop his chest, licking his face. It's incredibly unsanitary, but Watson - ever proper, ever concerned, _'Is that the red sauce from dinner three nights ago on your shirt Holmes?'_ Watson - doesn't seem to mind in the least.

“Really Watson – to lavish so much attention on a child is unhealthy. That is why all the best families send their children to boarding schools.”

“You’re being daft Holmes,” Watson answers, with what could almost be considered sharp affection as he rubs Gladstone between the ears, “he’s a dog, not a child. Besides which, I don’t know about you, but I found boarding school to be a complete nightmare.”

Holmes finds he cannot argue with that assertion, considering his own boarding school experience was characterized primarily by regular canings and he otherwise he spent a large part of it face-down in the mud until he realized that passive resistance was far less effective than punching one’s antagonist in the nose.

Watson puts Gladstone down on the floor, and the manic little creature charges across the sitting room and proceeds to try and make off with Holmes’ left sock. The good sock, the one without any holes. Holmes shakes his foot in a pathetic attempt to dislodge it, only to have his sock slip down. Gladstone pulls it free and gallops across the room with his prize as Watson bursts into bright laughter.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Holmes snaps bitterly, “that was my last good sock and now the little blighter has it.”

Watson whistles and snaps his fingers. Gladstone drops the sock and cants happily to Watson’s side, curled tail wagging. “You two really do need to learn to get along.”

“I don’t see why. We were quite happy before _he_ got here.”

Watson sighs heavily, “You really are an insufferable child sometimes Holmes.”

***

“It seems that you and I are at an impasse.”

Gladstone makes a curious little whimpering noise and tips his head to one side, his tiny tail thumps the rug. He might, in fact, be ‘cute’ as Mrs. Hudson says – though Holmes feels that cute is a highly unscientific descriptor. Purely subjective. Holmes sits on the rug, eye to eye with the pup, the sole object of his attention now that Watson has been called away to see to a patient.

He will sort this out, once and for all, and by the time Watson has returned, everything will be as it should be.

“I understand your obsession with Watson – he is a fascinating man – however you have neglected to notice that _I_ was here first. In scientific vernacular I am the ‘Alpha Dog’ and you must respect my position in the...pack.”

Gladstone yawns, his tiny pink tongue curling up towards the roof of his mouth, stumbles on his giant paws across the rug and deposits himself in Holmes’ lap.

“Listen here little beast, we are not...” but of course, Gladstone is already asleep, snoring softly. Holmes pokes him tentatively, and he snorts, but does not wake. He’s distractingly warm and a little bit heavy, but Holmes finds that stroking his short, soft fur has a strangely calming effect.

Most curious, and worthy of closer analysis.

***

Watson comes in some time later. Holmes has by this time stretched himself out atop the rug, one arm folded behind his head with Gladstone asleep atop his stomach, and is working on analysing the purpose of various snoring tones and the effect they have on the human comfort level. Watson stands over him a moment, looking concerned and a little confused, but when he opens his mouth to speak, Holmes hushes him quickly.

“I’m in the middle of a very important discovery here Watson – I would appreciate it if you didn’t wake him.”

Watson takes a deep breath, then shakes his head, smiling indulgently, and lowers himself to the rug. “I suppose I should just be thankful you two are getting along.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that Watson. We’ve always gotten on. We’re a happy family.”

Watson stretches out on the rug next to him, propped up on one elbow and pats the top of Gladstone’s head. “Of course we are Holmes.”

-End-


End file.
